


Also Human

by ADbLOCK



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, F/M, Kissing, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9367088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADbLOCK/pseuds/ADbLOCK
Summary: After their mini birthday celebration for him, Sherlock went back to 221B only to find someone had decided to visit him.[My headcanon because of that ringtone we got in The Lying Detective.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote Adlock. Even with the amount of fics that I've already written and how much I improved, I'm still scared to write Adlock because these two are just so complicated, hm? Anyway, I hope you like this one. It's filled with the usual bantering and sexual tension that we all love.

Of course, he'd notice the faint smell of lavender and sandalwood lingering in the flat.

John wouldn't.

"Would you look at Rosie for a minute? I can't find my bloody phone!" John sighed as he scratched his head absentmindedly.

Quite interesting that she'd leave any traces and still attempt to hide it poorly. Intentional, he supposed. He would have said that it wouldn't make any difference but that would be a lie. The Woman was good, he'd admit, and he was certain she had many tricks up her sleeve.

Sherlock felt something landed on his lap, breaking his train of thoughts. Trying to reach the thrown rattle, Rosie grasped his jacket and tugged on it as if demanding that he give her rattle back. The girl was a marvel really albeit a pain in the arse. Sometimes even more competent than John which was a good thing. Not wanting to antagonize her before the monster emerged (monster far worse than Mycroft when he once took Mycroft's secret stash of sweets), he simply handed her the rattle, earning himself a delighted giggle.

"Aha!" John finally exclaimed. Sherlock sighed. In relief? Of course not. He knew John wouldn't go into his room. It had been so long since the room was useful to him after all.

"Come here, Rosie."

John took Rosie. He had spoken a few words to Sherlock that had blurred in his mind, so he replied with short answers. The sound of the door downstairs closing caused the whole flat to suddenly shrink into a tiny size far too small for Sherlock to breathe properly.

He felt fidgety if he was being honest. Somehow his hands were sweating and he couldn't keep still. He was nervous?

God, it must have been the cake. Yes, the cake. And the coffee, he added. Pounds of sugar in both things. He could almost feel the sugar running through his veins like a drug.

Then he turned his head towards the closed bedroom door. There was no turning back. Such a ridiculous thought to think that he wasn't ready because Sherlock Holmes was ready for anything. Even for The Woman (No, he really wasn't.)

He caught his figure on the mirror. Suddenly it felt as if his hair was a bit too unruly, as if his face was a little bony from his recovery, as if he looked a bit more awful than he should be.

In an instant, it all came back to him. He looked at himself in the mirror again and found nothing was wrong. He took a step forward before he could even start checking his suit and his trousers. Another step before he could check his smell. He finally closed his hands around the knob before he could think of anything else but opening the door.

The small creaking sound from the door seemed to echo in the flat.

There she was. Irene Adler was on his bed wearing his clothes, the scent of his shampoo and soap filling the space around them. Her damp hair spread behind her was soaking his pillow as she leaned on her side. It reminded him of a time that he had stored deep inside his mind palace, a time he never thought he'd dig back up.

"Took you long enough." Her voice rang in his ears as their eyes met. It almost sounded velvety, deep and rich. Those striking blue eyes looking at him, matching his stares and challenging him. A small smirk sat on her red painted lips, taunting him.

"Hello, Miss Adler."

He stood in front of her, his hands somehow itching to do anything else other than reach for her. He always found her presence to be a challenge on his self-restraint, but it was different now. And it was definitely not because of John's words moments ago.

Slowly, she moved to sit up on his bed. His eyes followed her movements as the sheets flowed back revealing her in one of his shirts. It was far too big on her, the sleeves rolled up several times, the hem of his shirt just skimming above her knees. Sherlock knew better than to think little of the woman in front of him, but he couldn't help thinking how small she looked in his larger shirt.

"I'm surprised that John didn't notice." she said, gracefully perched on the edge of his bed.

A small smile escaped his lips together with a weak joke. "Defective nose."

Mirroring his smile with a smirk, she shook her head. "Poor John."

He didn't know why but those two words hit him so hard. The vivid memories of losing Mary flashed across his mind. All under a second he saw Mary jumping in front of him. He saw John, tears streaming down his cheeks, looking at him with so much hatred. He saw the long thin needle, its tip lost under his skin. Then everything vanished and he found himself back in his room with the Woman looking at him with an unreadable expression. A shiver ran through him as his heart pounded in his chest. He willed to control his shallow breaths before he replied.

"Poor John indeed."

Of course, she noticed. They liked this little dance of wits and brains between them, but this was different. It was obvious that she'd opened up a fresh scar when it was just another move on their chessboard that she wished to ahieve. Her chest grew heavy as she studied the shift in the mood around them and the small changes on his face, and she found no joy when his eyes softened in pain and loneliness.

Perhaps regret.

The signs were all too familiar. All memories, the pain, the sadness, everything encompassed into one second. His eyes turned a little glassy, losing focus while he stared at a spot above her left eyebrow.

Perhaps guilt.

Half-tempted to ask him if he was alright, she let herself watch and wait until his features shifted back to his usual air of cool and composed. There were rare times when she'd ask herself why couldn't they act like normal people and not talk in riddles. But what fun would that be? And that was it, right? They were far from normal. Normal was boring.

Perhaps that also why she asked him with only a small voice as if she was a cat cautiously skirting around the borders.

"I see you've been using again."

Her chest grew lighter when his eyes veered back to focus. Slowly, he schooled his face. All traces of what had just happened disappeared under the mask he slipped back on, so she continued, keeping her tone light and teasing.

"It hit you hard this time, hm?"

Baiting wasn't the right word. Yet he understood that she wanted him to take her offer of moving their conversation forward. Yes, she was offering a way out which he took, silently thanking her by flicking his eyes back to hers with a smirk.

"Quite a present to myself, I should say."

Two jokes in a row. It shouldn't be a surprise to her because the telltale signs of his usage was still eminent. Yet it was still something that was unexpected. She caught herself before she started thinking of how deep he had dug himself and what could have happened if he hadn't stopped. Nevertheless, a shiver ran through her.

"How's cake?"

His eyes quickly caught the shiver. It was barely cold, and somehow it made his chest tighten and his heart jump. There was something in her eyes that he did not dare to decipher even though he perfectly knew what it was.

"Chocolate." he started, his voice a tad louder. "Around 3-4 cups of sugar dumped in that thing. Mrs. Hudson absolutely loved it despite her diabetes. Molly came in late because of a date with the intern at the morgue. A dashing man in Molly's taste except he's obviously far too clueless. And John, oh, he tried to get Mycroft of all people to join us. Rubbish. George, Greg, whatever, came. He's still seeing that inspector even though I told him it wouldn't work. Did I mention-"

How he hadn't realize that she had stood in front of him, that she had inched closer to him was a mystery to him.

The touch of her lips followed by the flick of her tongue made him flinch as the words died on his lips. It was as if the mere contact swept all thoughts from his mind, leaving him looking wide-eyed at her.

She had made her way towards him slowly as he rambled. Surprised that he hadn't noticed, she had made her move, not stopping until they were standing toe to toe. Her eyes focused on that small brown spot on the corner of his lips. Pressing her lips on his skin had caused him to stop talking, so she pressed on with her tongue, earning herself a flinch.

Slowly, she pulled away, leaning back down on the heels of her bare feet, but she did not move, causing their faces to be a few inches apart. She could feel his shallow breaths fanning across her face as she stared back up at him.

Delicious.

Dumbfounded was a good look on him despite the adjective was very insulting to both of them. He looked adorable, if Irene was being honest, with wide blue eyes, lips pressed into a thin line, face deadly pale.

"Too sweet, indeed." she said, tongue running over her bottom lip. His eyes snapped back to focus, and a delighted smitk graced her lips when she saw them following the movement of her tongue.

"And little Watson?" she further inquired, her voice soft and teasing.

Oh, that was good, he thought. He may have lost that battle, but it didn't mean he had lost the war. It took him a few seconds to recollect his thoughts before he replied, his voice deep and low.

"Very much a Watson. The numerous times she threw her rattle at me reminds me of John when he's being cross."

He couldn't help the smirk that pulled on his lips as he watched the black swallow the blue irises of her eyes.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood as he spoke in that low tone, the sound rumbling deep in her belly. Judging from his smirk, her eyes were blown wide just as his was. However, she did stow away the mental image of a rattle being thrown at Sherlock.

"Now that's a good girl."

"John wouldn't like that coming from you."

She didn't even know that she could move any closer to him, but she did. Her hardened nipples poking through the fabric of his shirt brushed against his chest. Her labored breaths suddenly seemed to echo in her ears as her heart hammered. "He also wouldn't like that you let me in." she parried, her voice sounding a bit breathless.

"Hm, did I now?" he hummed in feigned innocence, leaning a bit closer. Their faces were now centimeters apart. He could almost count the long lashes that sat atop her eyelids. He could almost map out the constellations of freckles on her skin.

Beautiful.

Their eyes met as she leaned closer to him as well despite their height difference. "Please, you left the door open."

He contemplated for a while before replying. "No."

Rolling her eyes, she replied. "Oh, yes. John did."

His eyes twinkled as his smirk grew on his face.

"Semantics."

The word got lost on her lips as his mouth covered hers in a heated kiss. His hand found her hips whole the other stayed at the base of her neck, pulling them flush against each other. Now it was her turn to be surprised, while he pulled them closer to each other, every inch of their body pressed together. He couldn't help the smile that it got out of him, but that also made her fall back into the game that they play.

A hand went to the lapel of his suit, pulling him as close it could, while the other buried in his curly hair. Then she tugged hard on his hair, the pain mixing with the rush of hormones in his bloodstream in a delicious way. A groan fell from his lips, causing her to grin.

Their teeth chinked as they devoured each other. Their tongues swirling the hot pool of desire sitting on their bellies. Their lips nipping. Their teeth biting. The erotic sounds of their battle filled the room. Their breaths mingled as one as they fought for the upper hand.

But it wasn't just the game, was it?

Still, neither party was willing to give in. He tilted her head to deepen the kiss and went to attack her mouth, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip as his tongue soothed the swollen thing. Her moans were lost in the passion of his kiss. Suddenly he felt her fingers drawing feather light touches, tracing the ridge of his collarbone, making him shiver under her hands. Then she lunged at him, matching his boldness.

It was a game of push and pull until they pulled away at the same time. Chests heaving, minds and hearts blazing, they rested their foreheads against each other. And for a moment, it felt as if they were bare. They were stripped completely of who they were, of what was between them, and it was just them - the two of them in their purest forms. He saw Irene Adler, and she saw Sherlock Holmes. All the armor and walls burned down for the other to see. All the secrets, all the tiny details were shared between them.

A moment of underestimating passed between them when all that was left of what had happened was burying beneath their bones.

Without moving from their position, she looked up at him with those fierce blue eyes. "What are you going to do?"

A beat passed.

But then he couldn't help but store away the sight in front of him deep inside his Mind Palace.

Two beats.

He took note of how flushed her cheeks were, how dark her eyes looked, how swollen her lips had become. Every little thing that had passed before it was gone for good. He shut the door tight, chains wrapped around it, as he sent it down his Mind Palace where his heart lay close.

Three beats.

Slowly, he pulled away, bringing them back to a respectable distance though they looked nowhere near respectable with their swollen lips and flushed faces. The shirt she was wearing was crumpled, one side of the hem running high up her thigh, exposing her hip. Two buttons lay on the floor near him, as his shirt stayed open, the chilly afternoon breeze hitting his bare chest.

But it was done. The moment had passed between them and there was only one thing they could do.

He reached for the piece of paper in one of his bedside drawers. It was the note that came from the alleged daughter of Culverton Smith that had sought him for help. He presented it to her, their eyes meeting.

"Tell me what do you think of this?"

A sly smile crept to her lips as she took the paper from his hand.

"Is this the great Sherlock Holmes asking help from a lowly bystander?"

Two things. One, she was not a bystander. She never was. And, bloody hell, she would never be lowly. Two...

"Who said I was asking for help?"

Her smile grew into a grin, her eyes twinkling in the approaching darkness of dusk.

Ah, there it was.

"I do love a challenge."

That was them, Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler. Incredibly high IQ. Sociopath in one way or another. Competitive.

But also human.

He smirked at her, the familiar feeling of their battles returning. "I know."

She mirrored his smirk. The heat of their usual battles rising around them. Walking towards him with her hips swaying, she looked almost predatory, dominating. He wouldn't even deny that it made him shiver in anticipation and thrill.

"Well, then let's have dinner."

**Author's Note:**

> Is it weird that I haven't really watched the last episode? But I will tonight!


End file.
